Ships

In a dark and lonely ocean, we seek a lighthouse to help us to shore without knowing whether there is either shore or lighthouse. We find only each other in the darkness but the similarity of our positions gives us little to no comfort. Sometimes there are lights in the distance but there is no way to know whether they are lighthouses or mirages born of desperation, and by the time we sail close enough to find out we may be too far from a lighthouse to ever reach the shore.

Language and the Creation of Meaning

Unless something is difficult to say, it is probably not worth saying. Everything that is easy to say comes easily because it has been said before. The words we have, we learned - and so too with the meaning associated with them. If it hadn't been said before, we would never have learned to say it ourselves. Language is learned socially and by means of repetition. We say what we hear; it is for this reason that the words of others come more easily than our own.

We seek that all-elusive perfect combination of profundity and originality. And if we cannot reach that apex, we may at the very least strive toward some approximation thereof. To speak means to contribute to the history of a language. To say something means to contribute new meaning to a culture. So what are you going to do with your words? Are you going to allow yourself to reinforce the repetitions of bygone eras and the values of others? Or are you going to truly speak and say something that bears repeating?

There is truth to be spoken. It is new and fresh, and it flows from an ever-fecund source that lies deeper than our deepest understandings. If we have the courage and determination to speak past our words, to find their inner meaning and give meaning itself new life, the truth may come forward and bear us as its witness. This is the heart of poetry (qua the creation of meaning) and the font of both beauty and truth in all their manifold forms. May we all, then, have the courage to speak new life into our words, and to transform our language thereby.

"The Vacuity of Freedom" By Dr. Neil and Dark Hippo

People everywhere, especially in America, are always talking about freedom. But what is freedom, and what does it mean? Strictly speaking, freedom is freedom. If you are free, you are free to do anything. But though optimists often go around saying exactly that, it is patently false. If you are free, are you free to do that which is literally impossible? Can you morph into a squirrel at will, or can you calculate the value of 1 divided by zero? Clearly, there are logical boundaries for what freedom can possibly mean. So we are compelled to ask: Under what contingencies is one able to do anything? What inherent limitations are there to the notion of freedom?

There are some who would simply amend the definition of freedom to mean that one is free to do anything that is not logically impossible. But what do we mean by the phrase "logically impossible"? Isn't this just another way of saying "You are free to do anything that you are free to do"? This sort of circular definition is clearly both meaningless and insufficient.

Then there must be another limitation. Perhaps freedom is the freedom to do anything that you want to do. It is in this sense that we talk about the freedom to realize your desires and the freedom to be whatever you want to be. While this may be a very motivating notion for some people, it does not really mean much. What about all of the times that people do what they don't want to do? Without delving into a lengthy analysis of motivation and desire, let us be content saying simply that people are free to do both what they want to do and what they don't want to do. In this case, we have another tautological definition that means precisely nothing.

What about so-called political freedom, the freedom that is most commonly talked about in America? What does it mean for Americans to be free? With our egalitarian principles, an equality of rights and liberties is valued above all else. But total freedom is not egalitarian - it includes the freedom to oppress. In its most basic form, American freedom is restricted insofar as one is not free to violate the freedoms of another. Freedom is not the freedom to violate another's freedom... and so freedom is not freedom at all. Although many Americans live and die for this notion of freedom, it is even worse than meaningless: it is plain nonsense. American freedom is itself defined as restrictive. In an eerie parallel of Orwell's 1984, Americans equate freedom with slavery - which is frankly insane.

Looking at all the possibilities, it seems evident that there is no truly meaningful definition of freedom, and so we must conclude that freedom itself is meaningless.

However, slavery is very real. Understanding slavery as restriction, there are manifold ways in which human beings are constantly restricted as to what they can or cannot do, and what they can or cannot think. Slavery is very real, while freedom is an illusion. Once we fully understand that total freedom is logically impossible to realize, we may readjust our aims and methods accordingly. There is no such thing as absolute freedom, but there are various degrees of enslavement. Therefore, our goal should not be to become totally free, but rather, to minimize the degree to which we are enslaved.

"Adding Indirection" by Dr. Neil and Dark Hippo

Every time you try to generalize an observation you are playing with fire. On one hand, if your generalization is successful, you increase the power and import of the observation tenfold. But on the other hand, if you are unsuccessful, you negate the value of the original observation entirely. Also, each further generalization may possibly yield yet another exponential increase in value, but the chances of completely annihilating the value of the original observation is similarly increased.

This is the case with the generalization of generalizations. The further away you move from the concrete, the greater the risk of making nonsense out of previously useful information.

At first you have a particular thing in front of you - let's say a stapler. You make an observation: "This stapler is good for securing papers together". Then you decide to generalize the statement: "You know, staplers are good for securing papers together". So far, so good. But you decide to take the generalization further: "Staplers are good for securing all sorts of things together. You know, my hat doesn't fit very well. Maybe I should use a stapler to secure it my head."

So think long and hard about thinking long and hard, and consider that maybe you should just stop while you're ahead and say simply: "This here is a damn good stapler."

The Mind's Nose

Once you get out into the real world, you quickly discover that there are no rational people. How do people manage to remain so irrational, to see no connections whatsoever between their contradictory thoughts and actions?

The human mind can sense an impending contradiction - precisely in the same way that we can smell smoke before seeing a fire. There are many who would rather live with their contradictions than resolve them. And so, these people find it imperative to avoiding seeing their contradictions at all. Mindfully, they sniff out the stink of impending contradiction and immediately look away. A contradiction is near - beware! Stop thinking now, before it's too late!

For, once you lay eyes on a contradiction, it is already too late - the contradiction demands resolution. However, you don't really need to resolve your cognitive dissonance, so long as you remain ignorant of its existence. It is in this way that most people live - for whatever reason, we pitiful human souls are simply too lazy and comfortable to bear through the work that is necessary to become rational and consistent in both thought and deed.

Wittgenstein, Spirituality, and the Pitfalls of Specialization

"Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent."

Ludwig Wittgenstein

If religion and philosophy have the same goal, that they both wish to explore the spiritual or 'unspeakable' side of mankind, then Wittgenstein's statement may be taken as a kind of warning to all philosophy: that their principle aim is inherently unspeakable and ineffable (by its very nature), and so it would be better to say nothing at all than to say something that will inevitably be incorrect, or at best, inaccurate.

However, silence is not an answer to our questions. Rather it is the lack of acknowledging the question's validity, and such silence is much worse than censorship; it is the silencing not only of mistakes, but of any attempt whatsoever. It is easy enough for us to talk about the world around us, since we share it in common, and since we all live within it. It is much more difficult to discuss the world within us, especially since doing so is usually based on the usage of a language designed to talk about the physical (i.e. 'common') world. And so, it is clear why we need art, as human beings, since it alone is able to directly address our spiritual existences, to cut through misunderstandings and corporeal things and speak directly to our 'souls' by the only means we know how - namely, by addressing the spiritual with a language that itself is spiritual (e.g. myth, music, etc).

But, to get back to the matter at hand: Should we relegate the care of spiritual matters to the world of art, or should we be permitted to address spirituality in an analytical fashion? Should philosophy forget about spirituality altogether, and confine itself to smaller and more manageable concerns, thereby allowing itself to be transformed into a specialty to be practiced by 'experts' alone? Similarly, should religion simply be 'done away with'? And would it be responsible for human beings to take on such an attitude? Would this kind of transformation merely restrict the aims of philosophy and religion (which are presently the concern of all humans), or would it also restrict the field of art? Since we are all spiritual beings, wouldn't this kind of transformation of purpose affect the spiritual lives of everyone? Would we all be forced to become artists in order to satisfy our spiritual needs, or would art too become a specialty relegated to specialists alone, to whom the rest of us would have to turn to fulfill our spiritual needs? And if the latter were to occur, would this not mean the spiritual deaths of many?

If we could not express our spiritual uniqueness on an individual level, we would have to rely solely on the spiritual expressions of others in order to give our lives meaning, lest we resign ourselves to accept an altogether meaningless existence. And if so, if we are to accept this kind of narrowing of the purpose of religion and philosophy, and if we would not, thereby, all become artists, then this would invariably mean the creation of a new upper class, a new ruling class... a ruling class of artists. With art becoming a specialty, the artists would reign supreme as a unified force which represented the total spiritual meaning of every individual's life.

And is the alternate possible? Though we are all capable of being spiritual, are we all capable of giving expression to our spirituality by means of art? Are we all capable of becoming artists? Though we may all need art in our lives to feel whole, I fear that we are not all equally capable of expressing ourselves artistically.

Habit and Mood

Mood is constitutive of reality. How one looks at what exists changes its mode of existence. This is not only to say that one's mood "colors" one's perceptual apprehension of reality, but also that one's mood has a direct affectation on reality itself. To look at something is to change it. And to look at something in a certain way is to affect it in a corresponding way.

Reality is sensitive. To look at it is to come into contact with it; to come into contact with it, to touch it; and to touch it, to cause it to react. Mood is not mere subjectivity, it is constitutive of reality itself. If there were no human beings, mood would still be constitutive of reality. And so, we can see that a radical re-imagining of mood is necessary, for in considering it merely as a part of our inner selves, we have not yet grasped its true meaning.

It is clear that reality may agitate moods within us, but what we are describing is a total reversal of this all-too-common experience. What we speak of is the agitation of mood within reality by us. How is it that reality senses us? How is it that we can say it senses anything at all? Does the world weep when a tragedy occurs? Does it rejoice in triumph? Does it feel anxiety, and does it know pleasure?

Before we can re-appropriate the motion of "mood" into a larger and previously neglected context, we must clarify exactly what it is that we mean by this reality which "has" moods. If it is true that we emotionally affect reality, it is certain that these affectations are limited both in scope and in scale. When we speak of reality having moods, we are not speaking about all of reality, but only a small part.

Man engages with his reality as his reality engages with him. Reality is a network: man dwells in a house which is situated in a town which exists in a county... et cetera, ad infinitum. And so we do not engage the entire world and all of existence when we do what we do. Rather, we encounter only a small part of reality in our worldly doings. I sleep, and in so sleeping, I engage with my environment. I work, and in so working, I engage with my environment.

It is in this way that my environment acquires a mood. My work place acquires a workly mood, my home acquires a homely mood. I cannot think of feeling what I feel at home at work, for the environment has not been established for that purpose. And each of these places constitutes a reality, a world of its own.

And it is for this reason that a place demands to bear a task. If I have always slept in a certain place, that place will make me want to sleep, for it affects me with its own expectations. And if I wish to take that place and use it for something else, I may - but this will only add another level of expectation to that place, without removing the previous level. Locations have moods, and they do not easily give them up.

It is in this way that we may re-imagine habit as something that belongs to a place, rather than a person. To change a habit is not merely to change one's own state of mind, to make a personal decision, or to change one's actions. All this is insufficient to change one's habits, for a person forgets much more easily than a place. Made of stone and brick, concrete and iron, a place remembers all that has been done within it, and its expectations linger without end. To change one's behavior is insufficient. Permanent change is possible only when accompanied by a change in location.

Both Ignorant and Responsible

Our memory is selective. We are not dishonest, but neither are we true. Let's say we nearly evade a car crash - our emotions become wracked, our hearts tremble and our fingers shake. Our reactions may diverge greatly. One may shout profanities and make obscene gestures, angrily condemning the sure guilt of the other party. Another may bear himself more civilly, frozen still in the shock of the moment, thanking his god for protecting him. Whatever our reaction, it does not matter.

We wake up after our alarm has sounded, and frantically rush out of our homes in full knowledge that we will inevitably be late, but hoping that we will not be too late. Or perhaps we wake up, knowing it is too late, and decide that whatever it is that we're late to is not that important, and that we would much rather still sleep. Whatever our reaction, it does not matter.

There are times in which we know what we are doing, and know that our doing of it is important. Perhaps we are very subtle and sensitive people, and we remind ourselves every morning that each day has meaning, and every action significance. It does not matter. There is not even one person who lives always deliberately, always cognizant of themselves and their surroundings and the infinite possibilities of the present, always aware of what is happening and what their role is in the happening.

We overestimate our awareness and we forget even that we forget. We fancy that we remember the important events, and that we are in control of the situations that form the opinions others have of us.

In manifold ways, we forget that the world is without meaning and purpose, that things happen without cause or reason, and that all of this is true not only with regard to the greater world, but also to the very world that we inhabit, the very world that surrounds us intimately, the very world before our very eyes, and closer than the touch.

The events which are formative of our lives simply happen. When we are lucky, they happen in such a way that we happen to be aware of them. But just as often they happen without our noticing. And even when we don't notice them, we may still remain ignorant of them even after they have come to achieve significance before our eyes, through the powerful medium of Effect. That is to say: the small events are not small, and are often not recognized as large even after they become looming.

It is the same way with ourselves. That which is formative of our lives and our characters is as much the result of significant as insignificant events. We wake up and stretch our legs... and perhaps this becomes a vital turning point. "Why" does not matter. It has simply happened, and not only to us, but also by us. We have done everything that makes our lives, our persons, and our worlds what they are... and all the while, we had no idea what we were doing, right or wrong.

The Bar Scene

As Henry David Thoreau commented, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." Let us note that he wrote this outside of any specific context, and in the most general terms. He was not placing judgment on particular men in particular situations. He was rather only observing a phenomenon that we modern men are already too familiar with. Human beings are everywhere miserable. We hide it as best we can, but sadly even our bursts of passion are colored by an abject and pervasive suffering.

Although this is said quite aptly by Thoreau, the misery of mankind is not a new phenomenon. As we are all very aware of (or damn well should be), Buddhism cites as the very first "noble truth" that life itself is suffering. Everywhere, everyone is in pain. Everywhere, everyone is suffering!

How is it that we human beings manage to cope with this devastating state of affairs? Here, we have recourse to the inimitable Tolstoy. He writes, "If there existed no external means for dimming their consciences, one-half of the men would at once shoot themselves, because to live contrary to one's reason is a most intolerable state, and all men of our time are in such a state".

Miserable grouches that we are, we find recourse in drink and dance and song and sex, dimming our consciences and our consciousness both, dancing the nights away and slowly forgetting that we ever dreamed of a life without suffering. If we did not do all this, we would surely shoot ourselves, for to live contrary to one's reason is not merely intolerable, it is certainly unbearable.

And so, despite ourselves, we consciously pursue the clouding of our minds, and we call it fun and we call it pleasure. And even when we are hard pressed for our true opinions, we say the same: we say that it is fun and we say that it is pleasant. Is it pleasant to deaden one's reason? Is it fun to cloud one's mind for the sole purpose of forgetting one's own misery?

In Thoreau's words, "A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work". Then, do we masses not enjoy our pleasure because we have not worked for it? What kind of patronizing bullshit folk wisdom is that! We work hard for our pleasure, and we deserve it! We labor for endless hours during the week, persevering always to do what must be done, and some asshole who lived in the woods 150 years ago says we don't work hard enough? Well fuck him!

Except that's just the point: we slave away at our jobs, day in and day out, suffering every moment, waiting for Friday to come so that we might enjoy our lives just a little bit. But when the day finally comes, we have spent so much time suffering that we have forgotten how to enjoy life. We drink alcohol and we listen to loud music, we tell loud jokes and we laugh even louder. We spend so much time suppressing our urge to enjoy life that when Friday comes, it must be coaxed out of its hiding place through drink and dance. And so, we "let loose" and "have fun", all the while mistaking this release of the suppressed desire for pleasure for pleasure itself.

We say that it is fun because it is fun, that is, because we don't remember what fun really is. We say that it is pleasant because it is pleasant, that is, because we don't remember what pleasure really is. And one day there will come a reckoning for each of us, in which we faintly recall a desire we once had for something better. But then, it will be too late.

In Short

There will come a day in which we have all forgotten what is written here. That day has perhaps already come? In any case, it will be a day like all the others. It's like that game, you know, the game. The game you just lost. Except it's the opposite: you lose because you have forgotten to think about it.

To be fair, this is clearly an inconsequential post. It is likely far too self-referential for your tastes. But that is not to say that it is nothing. Good as nothing perhaps, but not nothing itself. It is certainly something... it is a certain something. And it certainly shall be forgotten, perhaps as soon as you have finished it, perhaps even as you are reading it now.

At this point you are likely asking yourself, "What's the point?" In which case, I can only say that the point has already been made. It's too bad that you missed it.

The Salesmen Scourge

It is clear that people admire and abhor others in direct proportion to their admiration and abhorrence of themselves. That which I find detestable in you corresponds to that which I find detestable in myself, and likewise with all things praiseworthy. And so, it is no leap of logic to conclude that those people we find wholly abhorrent and detestable are, in their very being, the perfect distillation of all that is abhorrent and detestable.

Who are these people, who perfectly embody all that is detestable and abhorrent in ourselves? They are the salespeople. You know them, the legions of salesmen and saleswomen who pollute our streets and invade our homes. They are the vermin of the earth.

Perhaps you are a salesperson, or have been one, or perhaps you merely sympathize with them. In this case I do not expect you to understand what I write here, for it is not in your nature to understand it. Suffice it to say that there is no human being who does not detest being sold something for which he has no use, no person who does not recoil in disgust and virulent hatred at the prospect of being manipulated for the sole benefit of another.

A salesmen is always a salesman, and he is always selling you something. When he steps out of his home in the morning, he is already ready to sell, for he knows thoroughly that the first thing he must sell is himself. You may cross paths with him incidentally and exchange a few passing words and already you find yourself filled with an inexplicable hatred. For, even in the most insignificant and inconsequential situations, he is always at the ready, willing to sell himself to whoever comes by. The salesman does not discriminate; he doesn't care whether you're white or black, male or female, rich or poor. Whoever you happen to be, you have something he wants, and he will get it from you.

Who are these people? How does anyone become so despicable? A salesman is not born a salesman; he is born like every other human being, but somewhere along the way something goes terribly wrong.

The salesman is not a person, he is not even an animal: he is a machine. The salesman is no man, he is merely a cog in the great social machine. Admittedly, we are all just such cogs, but that is not remarkable. What separates the salesman from the rest of us is in how perfectly he fits into the social machine. While most of us humans are imperfect, finding it necessary to readjust occasionally in order to function well in the social machine, the salesmen are perfect cogs which require neither adjustment nor calibration. Like all well-made cogs, they simply turn.

A salesman is always a salesman, and he is always selling something. That is his modus operandi: to sell. If he does not sell, he does not exist. It is his entire purpose, everything that he is and everything that he hopes to be. If he looks at his life and finds imperfections, he is not troubled: it is clear to him that he simply needs to work on his sales. If he is without a wife, then he must learn to sell himself as a good husband. If he is without a job, then he must learn to sell himself as a good employee. If he is without friends, then he must learn to sell himself as a good person. For the salesman, there is no problem that can't be solved with more salesmanship.

Being perfect social cogs, they fit everywhere and so, they are found everywhere. The salesmen pop up in the most unexpected places, so you must always be on your guard. If they were transparent, there would be no danger. But the salesmen are opaque, sometimes you don't even know they're selling you something until you've already bought it. Once they have hooked you, there is no getting loose. After all, what is it that salesmen do, except "pursue leads"? If you are hooked, it's too late. You have become a lead, and they will pursue you until they make a sale.

There is nothing you can do. The salesmen know what they're doing. No matter what you do, you will buy something. You may resist, but it's no use. Like quicksand, the more you struggle, the deeper you sink.

A salesman is always a salesman, and he will not stop until he has made a sale. If you spot one, it is best to give him a wide berth and avoid eye contact. But once he has you in his sights, realize that there is nothing you can do. Do not struggle: he is going to sell you something, and he can do it the easy way, or he can do it the fun way.

Open Letter

If we cannot have a genuine and honest relationship, I would rather have none at all.

Let's be honest: if we can't be honest with each other, what's the point? If I cannot say what I think to you and you cannot say what you think to me, then what are we doing saying anything at all to each other? Why are we speaking, when we have nothing to say?

Any relationship, be it amicable, romantic or familial, requires at the very minimum both time and energy, and often requires money as well. The point is, though a relationship is something intangible, there is not nothing at stake. This is not a selfish matter. I am not merely concerned with personal gain or loss, financial or otherwise. That has nothing to do with it. The point is merely, that although a relationship is intangible, it has a real world value. It matters. No matter what happens, we are both investing time, energy and even money in this intangible relationship-thing. And if we're not going to be real with each other, we're flushing all of that down the drain. And that is saying nothing of the emotional investment involved, regardless of the kind of relationship. There is a lot at stake, and if we're not going to be frank with one another, we're just fucking around.

And I have no time to fuck around.